


So Long and Take Care

by CrimeAlley1048



Category: Batfamily - Fandom, Batman (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics), DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 03:09:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4247076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrimeAlley1048/pseuds/CrimeAlley1048
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim Drake does a terrible job of taking care of himself, forcing others to do it for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Long and Take Care

“Tim! Tim, wake up.”  
“What…?” Tim rolled onto his side, crumpling a few of the sheets of paper that were scattered around him. Who put his case notes on the floor? He’d spent the last four hours looking those over— he had them specifically organized. How did they—?  
Wait, why was _he_ on the floor? Tim squinted up at Bruce’s concerned face, trying to remember if it always looked that fuzzy. He was pretty sure it didn’t.  
“What happened?” he asked.  
“You passed out.” Bruce grabbed one of his arms and hoisted him to his feet, dropping him off at the couch. “What’s going on? Are you hurt?”  
“I don’t think so?” Sometimes it was hard to remember. Tim glanced up as a very angry-looking Damian stormed through the living room doors, thrust a box of apple juice into his hand, and left without a word.  
“What’s with him?”  
Bruce shrugged— Tim looked down at his juice box, confused. Was this supposed to make him feel better?  
Oh, right. Damian probably thought he’d passed out from blood loss— the apple juice was to replace the iron. But Tim hadn’t been bleeding lately (not enough to cause a problem, anyway), so iron wasn’t going to help. He set the juice box on the coffee table and tapped on Bruce’s leg.  
“Can you grab those for me?” he asked, pointing to his pile of case notes. “I was close to a breakthrough.”  
“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”  
“Bruce, I honestly don’t know!” Tim was totally, one hundred percent sure that he hadn’t been injured. He hadn’t been exposed to any kind of toxin. He wasn’t sick. “I promise you, I’m fine.”  
“Did you sleep last night?”  
“Four hours.”  
“Did you hit your head? Do you have a concussion?”  
“No.”  
“Did you eat today?”  
“Uhhh…” Actually, that could be it. Tim had overslept this morning, so he’d had to skip breakfast, and then around noon, he’d finally found a clue to his most important case. It led him to one of the warehouses downtown, and he hadn’t had time to eat lunch, and then after that… Now that he thought about it, it had been a few days.  
“Um, no,” he told Bruce. “I didn’t eat.”  
“Dammit, Tim—” Bruce sighed and handed him his notes. “Stay there. I’ll get Alfred to bring you a tray.”

——————————————————————————————————————————

Tim sat at the cave computer, scrolling through files. He’d had this idea— he just needed to find some old notes, and then he’d be set. He was so close to cracking his case that he could almost feel the justice, or maybe that was the cave atmosphere. Sometimes it happened.  
Tim looked up from his screen, distracted by a muffled “Pennyworth!” from upstairs. Poor Alfred— Tim wondered what was going on. No time to check now. He was almost finished.  
He bent back over his notes, intent on finding a connection. There had to be somebody funding the weaponry, right? Maybe if he followed the money trail back to—  
“Master Timothy!”  
Tim turned to find Alfred descending the stairs, clutching a full tray of food and looking close to murderous.  
Oh damn. That was _his_ tray. He was supposed eat that.  
Alfred stomped over to the computer, slammed the tray onto the desk, and glared at Tim, crossing his arms.  
“I gave this to you an hour ago.”  
“I know,” Tim told him. “I’m sorry. I just have this really, really important case, and I got distracted, and I—”  
“Forgot to take care of yourself?” Alfred snorted. “Master Bruce says you fainted upstairs, and still—”  
“I’m okay now, I promise.” Tim grabbed a sandwich off his tray and held it up so that Alfred could see. “Look! I’m eating. All good. Don’t worry about me.”  
“I’ve been worrying about you since the day you stepped foot in this house, boy, and I’m not going to stop now,” Alfred muttered, but he turned to go. “Make sure you finish the lot of it.”  
“Okay.” Tim set his sandwich down for a few seconds, so he could move his stack of paper out of the way. “Money trail,” he recited. “Don’t forget.”  
He could start with those withdrawal records— hopefully they would lead him to a supplier. Maybe he could check with his bank contact? The man had been helpful during his last investigation. Tim might have missed the Metropolis link entirely if he hadn’t—  
Wait, Metropolis? That could be his answer. If the funds were coming from outside of Gotham, that would change everything. He should go check it out, or at least review his notes from the last case. Those were at his place, but…  
He didn’t feel that hungry anyway. Tim checked over his shoulder to make sure the cave was empty, stuffed his notes into his bag, and bolted for the door. He could make it up to Alfred later.

——————————————————————————————————————————

One more hour, Tim thought. He would work for one more hour, and then he would go to bed. He could be finished by then— if he really concentrated now, he could find the answer. Solve the case. Be done with the whole thing.  
Tim poured himself a fourth cup of coffee and stared down at his file. He was so close. Just a few more seconds, and then—  
_BANG BANG._ Tim twisted to face the window, almost falling out of his chair in shock. Who the hell would be knocking at—  
“Hey, asshole!” said Jason’s voice. “Let us in.”  
Of course. Tim sighed and went to open his door. “You know, this isn’t really a great time for—”  
Jason shoved past him with a stack of boxes, closely followed by Damian, who snatched Tim’s case notes off the table and retreated into the corner.  
“Hey.” Tim held out his hand for his file. “Hey, no. Give that back.”  
“Not until you eat.”  
“What? Damian, come on.” He just needed a few more minutes. “Give me my notes.”  
“ _Now_ , Drake.”  
Tim couldn’t believe this was happening. He stared at Damian, perched on his kitchen counter, holding his notes for ransom. Didn’t he know those were important?  
“Fight me,” Tim told him.  
“I would honestly feel guilty about hitting you right now. Sit down before you hurt yourself.”  
“Awww.” Jason stopped rummaging through Tim’s silverware drawer long enough to ruffle Damian’s hair. “That’s so sweet.”  
Damian glared at him. “You, on the other hand…”  
“Fine.” Jason gestured to the boxes on the table. “Okay, we’ve got a salad, some barbecue, two pizzas, and a plate of subs. Take your pick.”  
“And a dozen donuts?” Tim asked.  
“What?” Jason pulled open the box and dug out a glazed. “The light was on. You don’t just drive past the Krispy Kreme light.”  
“Pass me the pizza.” Tim sat down at the table and reached for a plate. If he had to do this, he might as well get it over with. “Did you guys get all of this yourselves?”  
“Oh yeah,” Jason told him. “We were gonna hang out anyway. Did you know we have a club now? The Dead Robins Society. We meet up every week and talk about expanding our membership.” Jason held out his arms, gesturing dramatically. “Tonight’s topic: Poison.”  
Tim set his slice of pizza back into the box. “Okay, now I’m definitely not going to eat this.”  
“Relax.” Jason grinned at him. “It’s just a joke. We’re both very invested in your continued well-being.”  
“You’ve both tried to murder me… like, multiple times.”  
“Shhh.” Jason slid the box back to Tim’s side of the table. “We all make mistakes. For instance, some of us forget to feed ourselves.”  
“Shut up.”  
“And some of us get brutally murdered.” Jason turned back to Damian’s corner. “Which reminds me, I still think we need a team name.”  
“No.”  
“How about ‘The Zombie Patrol?’ I vote yes.”  
“I said no, Todd.”  
Tim grinned up at Jason. “He’s right, that’s awful.”  
“No funeral?” Jason asked. “No opinion. Shut up and eat your pizza.”  
Tim obediently took a bite. “You guys are the worst.”  
“Oh yeah.” Jason reached into his box for another donut. “We know. Hey, Damian, do you want one of these?”


End file.
